"The holiday season in Nevada is a special time of recalling old friends and reviving old memories. All men greet the season in their own ways, with a brotherhood and compassion common to all.

It is my hope that these wondrous moments will remain as a part of all our lives. The wish is as old as mankind--may peace go with you as we begin a new cycle of the seasons, and may you know the comfort and warmth of God's world.

"'Peace on Earth . . . Good Will to All Men'

The ages-old message which heralds the approaching Holiday Season conveys perhaps better than any other the true spirit of Christmas, when we commemorate the birth of the Giver of all things to all mankind.

As citizen of Las Vegas, each of us can count the many acts of goodness and kindness bestowed upon us during the year now drawing to a close, and each of us is given renewed faith and hope for an even better future when 'Peace on Earth . . . Good Will to all Men' shall become a reality for all. May each of us this Christmas rededicate our lives to that purpose.

As Mayor of the City of Las Vegas, may I extent to one and all my very best wishes for a Happy Holiday Season, and that the coming years will bring each an abundance of happiness and the fulfillment of your fondest dreams."

"MERRY CHRISTMAS . . . MERRY CHRISTMAS . . . MERRY CHRISTMAS . . . MERRY CHRISTMAS LUVS. MAY THIS ONE BE YOUR BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.

HERE it is almost Christmas, and no snow. That was just about the worst thing I could think of - no glistening, soft, purry white snowflakes. The Cathedral bells rang in grand tones summon the Yule. The silver spires of the pines rose majestically in the gardens. It was frosty cold, and the kids wore mittens and snowsuits, but still no snow. Even dewdrops froze into icicles but the sleighing hill was bare.

Mama and Grandmama really hoped so much for snow, since Grandmama's grand niece, a genuine Countess, was coming home for a real old-fashioned Christmas. T'would be such a disappointment - no snow.

The Countess stemmed from the famous side of Grandmama's family tree. An American, she was beautiful and looked like Maria Montez, with great brown eyes that had so completely captivated an Italian count when Lisa went to Milan to study voice. There had been Hazel Darn, who starred in 'The Pink Lady' on Broadway, and her sister, Metropolitan opera star, Margaret Romaine, who cut over 50 RCA Victor records and Margaret tout, a diva who sang for all of the crowned heads of Europe. And then came Lisa, with a golden voiced talent too. Except no one ever dreamed young Lisa would fall in love with an Italian in sunny Italy and up and marry him! It was quite a shocker in the family. But now Lisa, who was Grandmama's favorite grand niece, was bringing her Count home to see an old-fashioned Christmas in Utah. Everyone wanted everything to be special! Even Aunt Rosemary Mabel, who was the persnickety wife of Mama's elder brother Ted, seemed excited about this social event about to take place in Grandmama's house Christmas day.

Naturally I wanted to help, as I always did. Except Aunt Rosemary Mabel and I were never affinities. She thought I was precocious and was always dreaming up wild, way out things that got her one and only precious son, my cousin Taylor, Jr., a year older than me, into trouble! Actually I was just imaginative and generous hearted, said Mama in my defense. However, five year hence Aunt Rosemary Mabel persuaded Uncle Taylor, Sr. to move to California permanently to remove cousin Taylor, Jr., from participation and any contamination of my enterprising ideas. Aunt Rosemary Mabel was just too much. I felt sorry for cousin Taylor, Jr., who had such a domineering and non-understanding Mother. But now she was not going to interfere since Grandmama upheld my idea for Christmas night, to do something special to entertain our royal Countess cousin, Lisa.

Three days before Christmas, LIsa and her Count Carmelo Contiano arrived in great style. With them came two Italian servants. Everyone began learning to curtsy and whatever you do to acknowledge royalty properly. At the reception honoring them at the country club, I was astonished to see the Count, who did not look like our vegetable and fruit man Tony, at all. In fact, Count Contiano was extremely handsome and young, and looked not unlike the late Rudolph Valentino. He had great charm and, wonders, he spoke English. More, he fully appreciated my personality and paid rapt attention to me when I was presented. I fully decided then and there to set my sights one day on an Italian Count and forget the marimba player who'd come from jSouth America with his band to play one of the concerts at town hall that Summer. The society pages ran a picture of Lisa and her Count and Grandmama and Mama at the reception. It was all exciting.

Mama and Grandmama began conferring about a musical ensemble for entertainment after Christmas dinner. Or just what, they pondered. I had come up naturally with my own brilliant idea. I would stage a theatrical event with cousin Taylor, which would be sure to be a delight? They listened attentively. It would be nice to have children entertain, being Christmas night. No piano solos but a real stage presentation I envisioned. The Countess would sing later. A noted concert pianist friend, Igor Stanlowsky, would play. So why not a child's act first, reasoned my peers. I could produce my own original short, one-act play. Naturally, who should be my leading man but cousin Taylor. He was the only boy I knew who would meekly take direction - from me.

'The Way With a Maid, A Boy and A Bakery' was the title. I had already written this skit for school and it had been highly approved. Now I wrote in my cat Fluffy for a role, mostly atmospheric. It would require three pies for props. The premise of the play being a maid with a bakery selling pies, and a prince asking for every kind, which she did not have. Of course, with her winsome personality, she was able to sell him a gooseberry pie, even though he wanted apple. A very simple script indeed. But with musical effects from the phonograph and innovation from 'Fluffy' and all, it was to be witty and clever repartee.

Now nine years old, I had never had my faith in Santa Clause shaken the last little bit. Even though some kids at school tried to disenchant me, I was local to the jolly old man who always made my Christmas perfectly wonderful. This would be two Christmases that Papa was away to recover his health. I had become accustomed to the idea. Mama always looked so brave and sad at the mention of his name. When a chauffeur brought one of Papa's Cadillacs from the garage to drive Mama or me to a party, it brought back Papa at once. He loved his cars, and there were five of them in the garage waiting his return. They were kept polished and so new - and all of them were Cadillacs. Sometimes I'd go and visit them at the city garage, where Papa's lawyer had them kept nowadays. Three of them had their tires off and were mounted on blocks to preserve the wheels or something. Mama, of course, didn't drive. Papa didn't believe in lady drivers of cars. He had thoughtfully left arrangements that whenever we needed a car, we only had to call the garage and a chauffeur quickly brought one around. Now we put one at the disposal of Lisa and Count Contiano.

I had a new dress of white silk and pink cerise bows. My shoes had been dyed to match and I felt ever so adult for the children's elegant Christmas party two days before Christmas. Cousin Taylor, Jr., was escorting me. IN spite of Aunt Rosemary Mabel, Taylor, Jr., and I were great friends. Grandmama kept a box at the Orpheum and each Saturday matinee would find Taylor, Jr., and I there in great style.

"Lands, but you do look like a little Lord and Lady,' Florabel, our long suffering maid said, wiping her eyes to hide tears (but what for, it would be such fun) as we departed. Soon we were at the country club, doing our best exercises of our dancing lessons at school. There were chaperones and suddenly, a spotlight was turned on the stage, and there was Santa Claus himself. He came to each child and asked, 'What would you like for Christmas?' I was too shy to say what. I'd rather have a had a Japanese doll in a traditional silk kimono in the top of his pack. But it seemed too expensive. I murmured, 'Whatever you'd like me to have.' Santa handed me a hand-painted Japanese silk fan instead. Taylor, Jr., said, 'You are always shy at the wrong times.'

Back home I went straight for the kitchen for a snack. Mama always said never to eat much at a party; it wasn't ladylike. In the service panty I overheard Florabel talking to a cousin of her's visiting her. Florabel, on a ladder, was handing down the Christmas patterned china from some upper shelves. 'These are to be washed and then covered with tea towels to be ready for Christmas dinner service,' Florabel was saying, 'Will the Mister be here this Christmas?' To eavesdrop is a terrible thing I knew. Said Florabel, 'The poor man will probably be dead before too long. He'll never get well. Tis a pity, he was such a handsome man too,' she sighed. 'Always kept his control, never lost his temper, was always charming. And he dressed so beautiful - the Mister did.'

My heart leapt in alarm! My Papa would likely be dead before long ???? I froze. This had never occurred to me. Mama always said he'd come home as soon as he was well. I cried in my pillow, but I never let anyone know.

Before Christmas I had worked out the surprise finale. Each guest would draw for the precious prize gift to take home, after our final bows, Christmas night. The priceless gifts were kept a big secret. Not even Mama nor Grandmama knew what they would be. I had to enroll cousin Taylor, Jr., to great secrecy too. Also, Tommy, who lived up the block. Tommy's parents had gone to New York and his Grandmama had come to stay with him. I needed space in his basement to hold my surprise gifts the night before Christmas It was all so secret!

Christmas morning we awakened to find snow had been busily falling all night long. Here it was, heaping the pine boughs and even the tiniest twig of the great sycamores and the buckeyes glistened as though ridged with pearl drenched with diamonds. The sun shone faintly, a winter sun through the window set in a wreath of snow. Mistle tow hung in the great entrance hall. The oak paneled library was hung with Christmas garland. The great Christmas tree was already glistening in the drawing room, awaiting Santa Claus' gifts. It was going to be a marvelous Christmas, so full of expectations. We had rehearsed our show, cousin Taylor, Jr., and I, repeatedly.

Protocol, I warned Taylor, Jr., must be observed in the presence of royalty. Aunt Rosemary Mabel had bought herself to tiara to wear even though any royal blood in her veins went back so many generations. No one was sure it was even blue. While Mama, who had been given the royal crest brooch from Papa's Grandmother's German Princess grandmother, took it out of the safe deposit. It was emeralds and rubies and diamonds and it was exciting to see it on her violet velvet dinner dress which was trimmed in sable. OOoooohhh, Christmas was going to be too elegant and memorable for words.

Mama had her dressmaker whip up a lady's baker outfit for me, a royal prince's costume for Taylor, Jr., with royal crests, and a tiny coat with a crest for Fluffy. And a page boy costume for neighbor Tommy.

'Never turn your back on royalty. Bow out of the room.' Taylor, Jr., was perfect. He could bow himself backward, clear across the 60 foot drawing room. Even so, I put markers, as they do on the stage, so my initial production would be flawless. My most severe critic would be Aunt Rosemary Mable, of course.

Our Christmas dinner feast was just that. Count Contiano remarked that it was just as he had envisioned an American Christmas dinner. All 35 guests were afterwards seated in the drawing room. A horn sounded from the hall. Tommy announced our play. Two spotlights marked our make believe stage. Its set: a long box with a white cloth and three pies, and a sign 'The Royal Baker.' My entrance was modest. I walked behind the counter. Cousin Taylor, Jr., as a prince, had Fluffy my cat on leash. Our dialogue began with him asking for an apple pie. My delightful repartee, witty and to the point, was to sell him any kind but apple, which I did not have. There was a slight murmur of appreciation from our captive audience.

In the middle of my dramatic scene, in walked Tommy with a big black cat. Fluffy's tail went three sizes and hissing, she leaped on my pie counter smack in to the lemon pie. It was sheer bedlam! Count Contiano came to the rescue, secured the black cat who was giving chase to make mincemeat out of Fluffy. 'Why?' I demand from Tommy. 'You said to bring it in at ten o'clock,' he protested. Everyone was laughing. That great dramatics of my play were lost. We decided to end it. Cousin Taylor, Jr., bowed backwards out of the room and in his haste, right into the pie stand and smack on top of the gooseberry pie! Aunt Rosemary Mabel muttered how this was another one of 'May's foolish ideas' and took Taylor, Jr., off to the bathroom to clean up. Count Contiano, however said I had a hit! He hadn't had such a good laugh in years. That did it. Everyone laughed.

After Countess Lisa sang and Igor played, I announced the Christmas drawing for my surprise gifts. 'Each of you who win will just love your gift - which you can keep for years'! With that, on cue now, he had come too soon before because his clock had been wrong, in came Tommy again! He had the black cat and we had two boxes of cute, little mewing kittens - 23, which we had obtained from the pound.

Strangely, some of winners were not too exactly excited about these perfectly purry gifts. But Lisa and Count Contiano hushed up Aunt Rosemary Mabel when they said, "How sweet. We'll take ours back to Italy!'

Next Christmas time they wrote, 'We never had orange and white cats in Italy before. But Tom Pussycat from America had populated all Milan with orange and white kittys. Thanks to you.'

'And to think, these purry little pets are for free at the local pound,' said I. ONly Rosemary Mabel snorted that it was terrible, imposing cats on people!

Papa, on the telephone from the sanitarium in Switzerland, said it was truly the spirit of Christmas - giving love. Alas, cousin Taylor, Jr., was restricted from any more of my plays or schemes forever by Aunt Rosemary Mabel. Cousin Taylor, Jr., said, 'One word of advice - you get shy at the wrong times. Maybe it would be better for you to be a taker - not a giver!'

Oh well, you can't please everyone!

Merry Christmas . . . Merry Christmas . . . Merry Christmas . . . Merry Christmas . . . Everyone!

"Little furry creatures figure prominently on many Christmas cards, which has made it like Christmas much of the year at our house. If we could 'talk to the animals,' we'd have learned a lot!

It's hard to recall the order of arrival, but certainly the most unusual visitor was the monkey. We first learned we had company when one of our neighbors, Sahara Congo Room Captain Ray Marquez, called us on the phone.

'If you'll go out in the year,' said Ray, stifling a laugh, 'you'll see a monkey sitting on your roof.'

So it was - not one of your ordinary, jungle variety, rhesus jobs but a larger specimen that we fancied looked like a baboon. As soon as he saw us he came closer, but not close enough to capture. Perching on the stairway to the roof just beyond reach, he readily accepted such offerings as bananas and peanuts, which he deftly shelled. During the subsequent several days of his visit he also found plenty of provisions for himself, like tree leaves, flowers, and garden vegetables. Once I found him sitting on a step eating an apple - have no idea where he got that - as he munched he was swinging one leg, like a child eating something he's especially fond of.

Like most residents of this show business town the monkey was a bit of a ham. When we looked at him he went into sort of an act, winding his arms around his head and peering out coyly. But he also had many special interests. He loved the pond my husband recently built, which may have reminded him of the jungle, and he was very fond of my car. One of his favorite pastimes was sitting on its top, while carefully removing rubber gaskets, discarding them on the ground the way he did banana peels. Our garage mechanic eventually found the spots where most of the gaskets belonged, once he recovered from his hysterics at hearing that a monkey had removed them.

Our simian friend was finally reclaimed by his owners, who live nearby, after a wild monkey safari and much coaxing.

The cats came next, lots of cats. We think some feline must have left a paw print on the door, indicating that the Rettigs are easy marks. We've been buying food for relays of cats for months. These are two current resident kittens, a beautiful longhaired black baby with a white vest and paws and extraordinarily long tail, and a small gray tiger, also with elegant white paws, who first appeared - soon after he eyes were open - in a box in the garden store room. Naturally we couldn't neglect what seemed to be a doorstep baby, and the little one, called 'The Carpenter' for her interest in all my husband's construction projects, is now a pampered member of the household.

Both kittens have recently taken an interest in watching television. Heavens, I hope they aren't going to grow up to become cat critics!

Then suddenly there was a rabbit, a large, tame, elderly bunny we first discovered nibbling on grass in the side yard. She stayed a couple of months, eating cat food when the usual bill of fare of peaches and carrots became boring. As suddenly as the rabbit had arrived, daylighting under the cars until coaxed out with food, it vanished, leaving us with only the cats, squadrons of birds, and the first in the pond.

So that's life at the Rettigs, a bucolic existence tourists would find hard to credit in this glamorous area. But then tourists, most of whom don't really believe anyone but other tourists live here anyway, are an interesting breed, bless 'em! And what would we do without them? Don't answer that question - it's depressing. At any rate, they come to Las Vegas in droves at the most unlikely times of year, like during our extreme hot spells, when they sun themselves by swimming pools as if being parboiled is enjoyable, or during last Winter's extreme cold snap, when they marched down The Strip, in their resort clothes, looking like frozen popsicles.

Still, they had no way of knowing we'd have such 'unusual' weather, and the lucky ones have been here during the glorious Spring and Fall seasons, when the weather is so beautiful it's wished it could be bottled and saved for the rare rainy day.

One thing, regardless of the season, there is never a dearth of super entertainment. After nearly 12 years as a Las Vegas resident, I'm still impressed by the number of great names on marquees, and on our stages, simultaneously. Of course, as a publicist for entertainers, and as one of the reviewers for this magazine, I've been exposed to lots of show business and I've developed some pet peeves, one being the performer who stays on much too long.

Opening nights this is not only forgivable but understandable. The entertainer may not have had the opportunity to time his show accurately, or he wishes to test a lot of new material to see what plays or works best. Then, judging from the first nighters' reaction, he can tighten the act.

The ones who disturb me are those, into an engagement, who are either reluctant to leave the stage because the audience is good and he (or she) is having a good time, or who fined the audience cold, and is determined to stay on until he 'gets' them. Regardless of the reason, the fact is that the attention of Las Vegas audiences is limited. If they are kept well beyond the allotted time for the show a permanent hostility can develop toward the performer. I personally could name several such international famed stars I would rather not see again, knowing I am going to be exhausted before the hammy ones can tear themselves away from their captive crowd.

Although it would be presumptuous to advise such entertainers, I do feel there is one simple test. If, as they take their bows at the end of the planned program, they see members of the audience getting to their feet and putting on their wraps, they can figure it's time to get off. That's not the psychological moment to say, 'If you haven't anywhere to go, I haven't either, and I feel like singing a couple more songs' or 'telling some more stories.' It's then hostility sets in, if it hasn't already. The bromidic advice to 'leaving them hungry' didn't become an old saying without a lot of saying.

Among the many advantages and interesting features about living here and knowing the people we do, is learning incidentals that never reach print. For example, did you know that one of the world's most illustrious stars, for decades, can sun himself in a hotel patio without being spoken to or asked for a single autograph? How does he do it? It's easy - he just takes his teeth out! No one ever recognizes him without them.

And then there are the domestic details, such as the fact that Robert Goulet not only has the two beautiful dogs that always travel with him, but he's also fond of cats. He and his wife Carol Lawrence have adopted and domesticated a number of kittens born to strays that inhabit the grounds of their California home.

And the Sergio Franchis raised a tomato plant in their Las Vegas garden that threatened to take over the world because delightful Mrs. F. heard fish emulsion was good for plants she didn't know how much was enough.

And their nearby neighbors, the Pat Coopers, in their first experience with non-urban living, were afraid the desert chipmunks would eat their new garden hose. At least Pat said he was worried, but you know how he jokes.

And if you don't know singer Jerry Vale, another neighbor, you are missing something, because he's funnier offstage than most professional comedians.

I can't decide whether it would be good or bad for fans to know such details about their favorites. Would it detract from their glamorous images, or enhance them, letting people know how delightfully human they really are? Certainly it casts a different light on Las Vegas show folk, who are folksky as your next door neighbor, and in this unusual town they well may be your next door neighbors!

The many sides of entertainers match the many sides of this area - the peace of the desert landscape, the ever-beautiful, ever-changing light on the mountains, in contrast to the glittering nearby excitement of the great hotels. That this is one of the most fascinating places in the world to live is obvious, and it is never more so than during the gala holiday season. Happy Christmas to you all!

There are many versions of the beginning of the custom of having Christmas trees, some based on fact, others on legends that have been hand down through the years. There is one particularly beautiful tale that dates back to that night in Bethlehem.

According to this ancient legend, on the first Christmas Night all the trees came to the manger in Bethlehem to pay their homage to the newborn Saviour. In grand array came first the native palms, then the foreign hemlocks, beeches, birches, maples and oaks, mingled with beautiful magnolias, slender poplars, graceful eucalypti, giant redwoods, and majestic cedars. From the far away frozen north came a small fir, which appeared like a homely Cinderella, among the other statelier trees, which did their best to hid the modern little fir tree from the eyes of the Holy Child.

Suddenly there was a movement among the stars in the sky. They began to fall to the earth, and star after star, as it fell, settled upon the pointed branches of the little fir tree, until it shone brilliantly with hundreds of celestial lights and received a smile of benediction from the Heavenly Babe in the manger.

"Dear Al,

Sue and I received your letter yesterday (Tuesday). The children are fine; I trust Mary and your youngsters are equally well.

We would have gotten our letter on Monday, but since the Congressional change, it didn't arrive until yesterday.

$1.10 seems a little high for normal air mail postage, but I like the stamp. Think postage will go up again?

Our new Federal calendar got there today.

It sure looks funny to see all the holidays on Mondays, or is it just me?

I know it's just a matter of time, but somehow, I can't get used to Thanksgiving day on Monday. The Monday after Thanksgiving, for 20 years, was always 'Left-over turkey Time.' The Turkey soup was just right on that Monday after Thanksgiving.

But the law is the law. I still get the feeling, however, that Sue's wonderful Turkey soup just doesn't taste the same on Thursday. Thanksgiving Thursday just seems like an empty November day.

The worst thing about it is the in-laws. In the old days, they'd get here Wednesday and leave Sunday. That was enough. Now they get here the Friday before Thanksgiving and somehow they managed to screw me and stay through two complete weekends. And my Mother-in-law is murder - especially with the television set. She won't let us watch the Army-Navy game. Seems odd to see them play on Monday morning.

I'll bet when ABC-TV finds out the new Federal Thanksgiving day on Mondays is kicking the hell out of their Monday night football, they'll switch to Tuesdays.

Of all the national changes, Thanksgiving on Monday has really made me gloomy. At least the Peace Police should let us get used to the change.

According to the newspaper, there have been a lot of minor isolated cases, but they were really rough on the Olsens down the block. Mrs. Olsen gave the police plenty of proof that it was against their religion to celebrate Thanksgiving on Monday, but no dice. Old man Olsen got 90 days. Hard labor. I think they could have gone a little easier on him. After all, he is 77 now. We've all pitched in for Mrs. Olsen to keep their sidewalk shoveled while he's away. Of course, with the new official weekend now beginning every Wednesday at 11am, it gives us a lot of time to help her.

But I guess there's no sense in complaining. We're lucky to be alive. The President says we've got to accept these new modern changes.

Newspapers here had one account of an old couple shot because they resisted arrest. The Peace Police Inspector claimed he smelled fresh Turkey on Thursday when he walked by their house. When the old couple wouldn't let him in, he and his partner broke in and shot them. It was in Cleveland, I think. Did you read about it? I'll have to admit, though, that the medals they gave the two policemen on television were just as sharp as could be.

I'm too old for Halloween, Al, but somehow, trick-or-treat with the youngsters coming by was always more or less a friendly thing for us. We used to love to give out the goodies and see their wonderfully silly little Halloween costumes. Now, with Congress having voted that the kids must do their trick-or-treating between 5:00 and 5:30pm on the last Monday in October seems kind of touch on them. We had a lot of them come by crying. Their little goodie bags weren't even half-filled and they have to split everything they collect with the Peace Police. In my neighborhood, Al, they were cruising six men in every car. At least when we were kids, we could wear costumes and funny clothes and it seems kind of silly to let children only up to the age of 7 go out trick-or-treating.

I really think that's the reason the little kids were crying; they got upset when the Peace Police kept stopping them to check their ID cards. They only have a half-hour, you know. Little Karen next door got stopped four times in 20 minutes. All she had gotten was an apple and the last Peace Policemen who checked her took it. He told her she was lying. He also tipped her wheelchair over. But she was on the grass and I guess it didn't hurt her.

Christmas on Mondays is OK, I guess, but with the new law going into effect closing all stores the preceding four days is sure going to raise hell with last-minute shoppers like me. But Christmas is the birth of Christ and even though we're not allowed to use his name any more, it's still a time of happiness.

Sure got to give the Government credit for handling the new Easter the way they did. Right? Holy Thursday on the first Monday in March and Good Friday on the second Monday. Palm Sunday on the third Monday kind of stretches it a bit, but Easter Sunday on the last Monday is right on. Of course, it does leave the rest of the week through Wednesday noon to get a lot of regular work done.

Lumping Washington's and Lincoln's Birthdays is OK, I guess, because nobody ever really celebrated them like they do Christmas. Having both birthdays on the first Monday in February along with the 5am rifle salute by the Peace Police is really patriotic. The noise is a little much, but then it's only once a year. I don't quite understand why the flags cannot be flown on that day, but what the hell.

I don't mind giving up New Year's Eve, Al. I think it's really a good idea that only members of the Peace Police should celebrate New Year's.

The new Valentine's Day emblem of the cross-submachine guns seems a little strong, but I suppose next year they might abolish that day altogether.

Having ten Labor Days each year leaves me cold. But that's what the Congress decided and after all, we're the ones who vote them in.

I'll admit I was pretty surprised when Congress abolished the Fourth of July, Memorial Day and Veteran's Day. I know they were running out of Mondays, but they could have squeeze them in somehow.

I've always like the fourth of July. It sort of sent chills up my spine when the flag went by, but the law is the law.

The Mother's Day Parade on the third Monday in May is ridiculous. My mother is really too old to parade. A lot of guys have lost their mothers and I think parading older women wearing men's boots and wearing those Peace Police arm bands is not fair. Especially with the flag upside-down.

Still and all, Al, aren't we lucky to be alive? What is your candid opinion, by the way, of the new national slogan, 'Peace, or I'll kill you?' Somehow, it doesn't ring quite true to me, but I guess we all have a try to be good Americans.

Regards to the family and don't forget to burn this as soon as you read it.

P.S. I'm sure glad the Supreme Court rules in favor of: 1. Must be at least 90 years of age to be on the bench; 2. Each Supreme Court Justice's salary to be $500,000 per year."

Here I am again with a new name and lots of easy ways to enjoy the Holiday Season. For the past four years I have told you what I had planned for Christmas and New Year's. This year, let's talk about the days in between.

As I tour the country doing my cooking presentations to clubs in all areas, I have people tell me they get bored with the leftover Holiday Foods. We all have too much food and get our fill of turkey sandwiches. As for me, I hate hash made of left-over foul. I don't believe hash was meant to be made of foul of any kind. There is no reason not to enjoy all the leftovers as the week progresses through the Parades and Games of New Year's.

this year, as in all years past, I'll be involved with a lot of extra entertaining during "The" Season. Living in Southern California we always have out-of-city guests regardless of the time of year. So the day after Christmas I'll make a Turkey Tetrazzini with the leftover turkey meat both dark and light. I find that this casserole prepared in advance and kept over night in the refrigerator is better the second day, as the spices and herbs penetrate through the turkey and pasta.

Make a white sauce, melting butter in a pan adding flour, making an even paste by constantly stirring, gradually adding milk and salt. Continue stirring until the consistency of gravy. Add pepper, dry mustard and Sherry. Bring sauce to a boil. In a skillet, saute chopping mushrooms (stems as well as caps) in a tablespoon of butter until wilted. Boil Vermicelli according to directions on package. I do mine until al dente (firm, about two minutes). Mix the turkey, mushrooms and sauce together. Pour mixture over Vermicelli tossing all together as you would a green salad. Place mixture in a large greased casserole, top with Parmesan Cheese. Bake in a 425 degree over for 20 minutes. Serves 12.

On Christmas Day, I'll serve a gelatin salad. I choose this because its easy, attractive and can be made well in advance.It will last and I find myself about the third or fourth day using it as a dessert for lunch. Its very Southern plus very good.

Drain cherries. Take syrup from cherries, add Coca Cola and then enough water to make two cups. Boil. Pour over gelatin, stirring until dissolved. Chill until slightly thickened. Fold in rest of ingredients except cream cheese. Pour into 5 cup mold or 8 inch square pan. Then cover with grated cream cheese. Chill until firm. Makes 10 servings. I don't serve a dressing other than sour cream seasoned with a little nutmeg, as I find it enough as is. So I suggest you be the judge.

The dessert I share with you this year comes from Helen Corbitt, the Director of the Neiman-Marcus Restaurants in Dallas, Texas. To me this lovely lady is one of the best Hostesses and Party Givers of our time. This recipe is so easy your child could do it to help you out, at the same time making him feel a part of all the festivities. One thing I suggest that I like better than a regular crust, as Mrs. Corbitt suggests is a vanilla wafer crust. It's so easy to make and gives the pie an altogether different taste.

Cook the first four ingredients in a double boiler, until a smooth consistency. Take off heat and cool. Then add the vanilla and rum. Fold into 1 cup of whipped cream and pour into shell. Cover with rest of cream and sprinkle the nuts over this. Chill. Serves 8.

For New Year's Eve I plan to have my appetizers mostly in chafing dishes this year, so there's no worry about drop-ins. I believe that this is the only way if your house is like mine, you'll have drop-ins beginning in the afternoon (don't forget New Year's Eve is on Saturday this year), continuing into the early morning. If there's anything left, it can be frozen for later or served the next day.

I find my trusty Ronson Table Chef handy for my Buffets as well as so useful for my demonstrations at the different Clubs that I appear with more frequency. If you have one you can fill the fuel pot with butane, regulate it to the heat you wish and forget it for at least 10 hours. One of the many hors d'oeuvres will be a hot dip I call Ensenada Red.

Brown meat and onions in hot oil in skillet. When onions look transparent, stir in chili sauce, chili powder, salt and pepper. Pour beans and liquid from the can into skillet. Take a potato masher and mash altogether, like a paste. After this has thoroughly heated, pour into chafing dish. Garnish with one cup of shredded cheddar cheese. Then cover center of chafing dish with 1/2 cup of finely chopped white onions. Pile a half cup of sliced stuffed green olives in center of onions.

When your guests dip in with a corn chip or tostada chip, its a real circus to see if they can get a little of each on a chip with one dip.

Just before midnight on New Year's Eve I plan to serve my dinner. The entree this year will be a ham. I will baste it in Beer and if you haven't done this before, try it for a great taste.

On New Year's Day I'll take about a pound of this ham and cook a pot of Black Eye Peas to serve with Texas Corn Bread and a tossed green salad.

One of the San Fernando's Valley's loveliest matrons, my good friend, Mrs. E.P. Clark, every year has a few close friends in for cocktails around five. The only hors d'oeuvres she serves are small individual pots of black eye peas and chunks of Texas Cornbread. It seems in some sections of the South ever since reconstruction time on New Year's a family served black eyed peas and corn bread. This was a thanks to the land and to God for giving them the basic needs. I think in this day and age to find people still steeped in tradition, refreshing. Mrs. Clark's friends look forward to her party and ever since I've known her I have had a pot of Blackeyed Peas on the stove for drop-ins. I go one step further and have a pot of steamed whit rice to serve them on as is the custom in my native Louisiana. Try it, it's very effective and believe me, after a week or more of rich fattening food, it is great to have a simple basic food.

In large sauce pan cover peas with water. Bring to a boil, then cut heat down. Add seasonings and cover pan. Let simmer for about three hours. Occasionally stir.

Mix all the dry ingredients and sift into a bowl. Mixing thoroughly. Beat eggs separately and add to milk and oil, then mix all ingredients together and pour into a greased pan. (I use bacon drippings for this also). Heat pan in oven before pouring corn mixture in. Place in oven and bake at 450 degrees until brown and done. The bread should be moist.

I know 1972 will bring good health and a good appetite. I also wish you peace and love."

"Christmas in Las Vegas!

Probably nowhere else in the world can you capture the same holiday spirit. Children singing songs like 'I Saw Mommy Kicking the Slot Machine' or 'Santa Clause is Coming Out for a New Number', or 'Rudolph The Red Nosed Dealer' - yes, all this makes Las Vegas so different for Christmas.

Only in Las Vegas do you find the true Christmas spirit of GIVING so plentiful! The colors of Christmas, red and green, are found everywhere. Red dice and green complexions. Christmas trees in this desert Paradise are decorated with ornaments you don't find in any other city. Pawn shop balls hanging from each branch!

The night before Christmas is truly an event, perhaps more exciting than in other places. There, outside the window, are a group of carolers gayly singing the most popular Las Vegas tune 'All I Want for Christmas Are My Markers Back!'

Then the children are quietly tucked into their motel beds and they find it difficult to fall asleep. Daddy is back every 20 minutes from the casino breaking open their piggy banks. And Mommy is back every 21 minutes breaking open Daddy's head.

What a joyous Christmas spirit. Unfortunately no bottles are around to celebrate with. They've all been brought to the store to get the deposit back.

Well, the kids have dozed off now, and the Sands man is leaving followed by the El Rancho man, the Thunderbird man, the Last Frontier man and the Flamingo man.

This is the night before Christmas and we're all waiting for Santa Claus to show place or win. We've heard rumors of late that Santa Claus might not come to Las Vegas this year because the Atom Bomb blast might frighten his reindeer.

However, we are happy to report that the Atomic Energy Commission has arranged to postpone any tests for the holidays and the only explosions you'll hear will be from wives when they learn how much of the old man's loot went down the drain. That makes the coast clear for Santa to include Nevada in his itinerary this year.

I understand that Santa has been having a tough time figuring out what to give Las Vegas for presents, besides MONEY. I have a few suggestions, in case he's interested.

• In every stocking, I would put a return trip ticket. This is one thing EVERYBODY wants but they never seem to get.
• To all the investors in the Las Vegas racetrack, I would give a NEW racetrack.
• To every girl I would give a guy who will pay some attention to her while they're in Vegas.
• To every dealer, ONE player who doesn't complain when he drops a bundle.
• To every bartender, a bar all his own.
• To every shill, the right to keep ALL the money he wins.
• To every hotel owner, a perfect floorshow with no headaches. To every show producer, acts who are satisfied with their billing.
• To every desk clerk, early check-outs. To every cocktail waitress, a MILLIONAIRE. To every MILLIONAIRE, a cocktail waitress.
• To every hitchhiker, a ride. To every chuck wagon eater, NO HEARTBURN!
• To every crap-shooter, seven straight passes.
• To every slot machine player, ONE jackpot.
• To every blackjack player, an unlucky dealer.
• To every roulette player, a SUCCESSFUL system.
• To every comic, NEW jokes!

If Santa would only leave the North Pole with a bagful of these presents he'll make this the happiest Christmas ever! And, seeing as most motels have no chimneys I recommend that Santa use a helicopter this year and just lower away. Everyone will be high anyway so all you have to do is reach up.

I do hope that Santa won't mind my suggestions and be generous to the folks down Las Vegas way.

Last year I heard some unlucky stories. One woman hung her nylons on the Christmas tree, and someone stole them! A crapshooter hung his sock on the Christmas tree and the next morning the tree was dead.

But I've been reading the Reindeer Racing Form and I'm happy to report that all the reindeer are in good shape. Santa's at the post, and he looks like a sure winner."